Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I am so silly. Yes, Garrick, it is very clear. You have placed your life, and your future, in jeopardy for me and for Hannah. You have been very clear from the moment we met, in fact.”

  Recalling that meeting, which had gone awry, he smiled and kissed her nose. She moved into his arms, clinging to him, her face pressed against his chest.

  He stroked her back. Thoughts that had little to do with either Arlen, his sister, or their journey arose. “We have gone round and round in circles. Come with me to my room,” he whispered.

  She tensed, gazing up at him.

  He gripped her hand, hard, and brought it to his mouth, kissing it with all the passion he felt for her. He watched her eyes darken as he let her hand go. He hesitated only a moment before pulling her close, this time claiming her mouth with his. Love fused with desire. He had never wanted a woman this way before. It was stunning … it was terrifying. What if, tomorrow or the day after, she disappeared as suddenly from his life as she had appeared? As she seemed intent upon doing? Or if Arlen found her and dragged her away?

  But now Olivia kissed him back with the same feverish longing he was consumed with, and maybe with the same fervent love—and the very same fear. When she broke away, glancing at Hannah, who continued to sleep, he said urgently, “Come to my room. Please.”

  She met his gaze. “I want to. But what if Hannah wakes up? Alone, in the dark, in this strange room?”

  Garrick tried not to groan. .“I want you. I need to be with you.” He did not say, What if we never have this opportunity again? But in his mind, he was aware of a clock ticking, as much so as if there were a pendulum clock standing in the corner of the room.

  “I need you, too,” she said. “Terribly. Oh, what is happening to us?”

  Garrick stood. Leaving her now was extremely difficult. “Perhaps we are falling in love,” he said softly. Staring. She had never told him that she loved him, and he wanted to hear it now.

  “Perhaps?” Her mouth was pursed. “I fell in love with you a long time ago, Garrick De Vere. Perhaps before I ever laid eyes upon you.”

  His heart sang a little and danced, and in spite of her odd statement, he thought he understood it. But he wanted to know exactly what she meant. “How is that possible?”

  She hesitated. “I met Susan and her parents a few days before you called upon her in town. At Ashburnham, where they were visiting. As soon as she told me of her engagement, I saw you, Garrick, as clearly as if I had already known you. I saw you, and knew you—and knew you were innocent of all those who had been accusing you for years of murdering your brother.”

  His heart turned over, hard. “Is that usual, Olivia? To hear of someone you have never met and—”

  “No,” she cut him off. “It has never happened to me before.” Her gaze locked with his.

  “I am glad,” he said harshly, and he pulled her hard against his chest and kissed her again.

  When he released her, she smiled up at him, touching his cheek with her palm. “In spite of the warning, we were meant to meet, Garrick.”

  “Yes. We were. This was meant to be. And it is my intuition which has told me that—from the very first.” He smiled, but then he grew grim. “Plan on leaving at first light, Olivia.”

  Her relaxed expression vanished, replaced by worry.

  “Try not to worry,” he said. “Let me do the worrying.”

  She nodded. But she was no longer smiling. And he knew she was thinking about Arlen now, and the oh-souncertain future, as was he.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was late. The moon was nearly full but constantly obscured by huge, drifting clouds. From time to time a star would appear, only to be swept away by the windblown shadows. Below the road that led to Caedmon Crag, the surf crashed upon the rock-strewn coast, loud and resonant, deafening.

  It was cold, far colder now than it had been at any previous point in their journey, and Olivia huddled under her mantle after making sure that Hannah, who slept soundly, was securely covered up. The ocean continued to roar somewhere below the road, but to the right she could see the endless band of the ocean, stretching away into eternity, glittering ebony in the night. She shivered, her gaze turning to Garrick’s broad shoulders. They were set with tension. He had not spoken to her or turned to look back at her for hours.

  She did not have to be gifted to know that returning to this place where his brother had disappeared fourteen years ago was difficult for him. It would be extremely difficult for anyone. But she was gifted, and she was also highly attuned to him by now, and she felt his misery, his confusion, his anger, and his fear. She could not understand that last emotion. What frightened him? The truth?

  She imagined that if she were in Garrick’s place, she would be hoping against hope that Lionel was genuine and not an impostor. On the other hand, she had witnessed the barely veiled and bitter rivalry between the two men, and the earl’s favoritism. Of course, Garrick would be torn.

  She herself had many reasons to be afraid now. It was only a matter of time before Arlen came hunting for them. She did not want to stay in Cornwall, or England, for that matter, for more than a few days. She could not even bear to contemplate what might happen if Arlen did find them, and she had long since banished that odd vision about Hannah into the farthest reaches of her mind. But what about Garrick? He had been firm—he would not abandon her and Hannah. Yet did she dare run away with him? That would fuel Arlen’s fury and determination as nothing else would. The situation seemed so hopeless.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the looming shadows of a building just to the left of them. The windswept clouds were racing past, and it almost seemed as if the building wavered back and forth in the gloom. Careful not to disturb Hannah, Olivia leaned forward. “Is that Caedmon Crag?” she asked Garrick, her tone hushed.

  He glanced back at her briefly. “No.”

  She waited, and when he did not reply immediately, she thought he would not; but after a long pause he said, “That’s the ruins of an old, eleventh-century keep. There are some caves below it in the cliffs, and smugglers have been using them for centuries.”

  She felt the chills then, creeping upon her spine, her arms, the nape of her neck. She was aware of the setter, until now lying at her feet, suddenly sitting up. The dog whined, his ears pricked.

  The surf continued to crash on the coast below them, the wind moaned. “Garrick.” Olivia stiffened, certain she had heard the sound of Garrick’s name, a distant sigh upon the wind.

  He turned briefly again. “Did you say something?”

  “No.” As she spoke, myriad sensations took hold of her. The night had changed. It was no longer empty and benign. Olivia stiffened, automatically reaching out her hand. Something, or someone, was making itself known to her. She could not identify what, or whom, it was.

  Come closer, she pleaded inwardly.

  “Do you feel anything?” Garrick’s question cut into her thoughts.

  “Yes,” Olivia whispered, her pulse pounding. She did not want to talk to Garrick now. She wanted to empty her mind, her self, and feel whatever might be out there. But she said, “Something happened here. Is this where your brother … vanished?” She had almost said, Is this where your brother died?

  He suddenly halted the carriage. “We were here together, at the keep. I stayed. Lionel left.” Anger had entered his tone. “He was never seen again.”

  Olivia sat without moving. Garrick was also motionless. Both mares had dropped their heads and appeared to be dozing. Hannah remained soundly asleep. The setter whined again, low in his throat.

  Garrick and Olivia looked at the dog, who seemed to be gazing out into the night.

  “What is it, boy?” Garrick asked softly. The wind seemed to pick up. The shrubs around them shifted. Not far by, a pebble sounded, as if dropped upon the rocks.

  And briefly, stunningly, she felt it all: the night around them was filled with surprise, incredulity, anger, and finally, fear.
Very real fear.

  Olivia was frozen, not daring to move or to breathe, even as the carriage was rocked by a sudden gust of wind. As if from a distance, she heard Garrick speak to her but could not decipher his words. And then it was gone. As suddenly as it had been there. Nothingness filled the void of the windy night. Sheer emptiness. Just the wind and the sea, the stars and the trees, and the empty shell of the keep.

  Perspiring, Olivia glanced at her daughter to see if she had been disturbed by the encounter, expecting to find Hannah awake and as alert as she. But she remained soundly asleep, her small face relaxed, her breathing deep and easy. Olivia frowned.

  Had it been Lionel? Was Lionel lurking about, for some reason afraid to approach them too closely? Or, because it was so many years since his disappearance and supposed death, if it was he, was he incapable of coming any closer?

  “What is it, Olivia?” Garrick was staring at her. “What did you see?”

  Olivia started. “Someone was here, Garrick, a moment ago,” she said quietly. She sat back in the carriage, waiting now. He would try to come again. She was certain of it.

  “I felt something, too,” Garrick said harshly. “Was it Lionel?”

  Olivia met his gaze, which was angry. If it had been Lionel, then Lionel was dead. “I don’t know who it was,” she said softly, wanting to touch and comfort him.

  He hesitated and shook his head, at the same time lifting the reins and urging the mares forward. “Perhaps we were imagining things. The keep has always been said to be haunted. This place has always felt odd … heavy.”

  Olivia would have said that it felt sad, dark, and oppressive. “I think you are right,” she said to his back. “I think the answer you seek is here. Or nearby.”

  He stiffened but did not reply, continuing to drive the team on. A few minutes later, they were turning through the barbican of Caedmon Crag.

  The old, crumbling manor was pitch black inside the great hall, until Garrick lit a torch. Immediately the stone walls, hung with rusted maces and swords, blazed with light. “There are no servants,” Garrick said abruptly. “I’ll go fetch Hannah.” His eyes held hers, intense and probing.

  In that one second, Olivia’s thoughts changed dramatically. She could imagine why Caedmon Crag had been left unattended for all these years, and now the knowledge that no one was there except herself, her daughter, and Garrick De Vere filled her with a breath-defying expectation. She accepted the torch, watching Garrick leave the hall. The front door banged against the wall where he had left it open.

  She glanced around at the cavernous hall, which was starkly empty except for one long, scarred trestle table and its chairs, and an old, faded wall hanging depicting a hunting scene. Suddenly Olivia envisioned two young boys engaged in mock swordplay in front of the huge, man-size brick hearth. She smiled, watching as they chased one another into the hall, the one fair and golden, the other dark and bronzed. Feints parried thrusts. The boys grinned as they challenged one another. The countess appeared, scolding them both, but the boys only nodded and resumed their wild play. Then the earl, magnificently clothed as always, strode into the room, his expression stern. The vision ended abruptly, but his appearance had been much like a huge storm cloud settling over a sunny tropical island.

  Olivia hugged herself. Had she recalled a moment from the past or merely imagined the past as it might have once been? She did not know. But she was struck by the bond of friendship and warmth between the two boys—the two brothers. She had seen no such evidence of that bond since Lionel De Vere had returned from the dead. But people changed.

  Garrick entered the hall, Hannah stirring in his arms. With one booted foot, he closed the door. “We’ll take the rooms right above the hall,” he said, his golden gaze piercing through her another time.

  Olivia nodded, leading the way because she held the torchlight, her heart beating double time. Her slippers echoed loudly on the narrow, twisting stone stairs. On the second landing, trying to keep her thoughts at bay, she pushed open the first door she came to and saw a dark room, the stone walls having been whitewashed long ago but now almost the same dark gray as the natural stone outside. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room. Age had weathered it nearly black. Garrick moved past her and laid Hannah down in its midst. He began searching for bedding through the huge, warped trunk at its foot. “Mama?” Hannah whispered sleepily. “Are we here?”

  Olivia hurried to her. “We are. Go back to sleep, darling. It’s still the middle of the night.”

  Garrick covered Hannah with a wool blanket. And somewhere not far from them, abruptly, something fell, sounding loudly on the stone floors, a deafening crash. And a shutter or a door banged a moment later, downstairs, the sound thunderous. Olivia jumped.

  “A storm by the morning,” Garrick commented, but small frown lines creased his forehead. Olivia nodded, sitting beside Hannah, reminding herself that she was not afraid of spirits, not even the most angry of lost souls. She did not ask Garrick about the source of the crash and the banging.

  He took a wall sconce and lit it, using Olivia’s torch. “I have to go and tend the team. I’ll be back shortly.” His gaze settled with brilliant intensity upon her face. “I’ll take the room next door.”

  Olivia trembled. All previous thoughts of ghosts and spirits vanished, and she nodded, breathless, unable not to think now about being in his embrace, in his bed. She glanced at Hannah, but she was already asleep. Far more than the trip had taken its toll upon her.

  “Treve, stay,” Garrick ordered the setter. And he strode from the room.

  He pounded down the stairs, aware of the woman he was leaving behind, but even more aware of his surroundings. What the hell had just crashed to the floor? It had sounded like something on the floor above him. The floor above—where he and Lionel had had their rooms as boys.

  In the great hall he stared. The front door was widely ajar, and he had slammed it closed after entering with Hannah. As he crossed the room, he could not help but glance around at the shadows that lurked against every wall, in every corner. He saw nothing.

  He was trembling, he was sweating. He did not remember the manor ever feeling so unfriendly before. But he had not been back to Caedmon Crag since the day Lionel had disappeared. Perhaps it was his own bleak, angry feelings that were infusing the manor with such a dark atmosphere. And the atmosphere was dark—it was not his imagination.

  He stepped outside, this time closing the door solidly and checking to make sure it was closed. The wind howled. The surf roared on the rocks below the manor. There was no doubt about it. A storm was on its way, a very bad one. By dawn tomorrow, he expected the manor to be in the middle of a gale. But that was fine. If Arlen thought to chase them down, he would be delayed.

  Garrick approached the tired team and quickly unhitched both mares from their traces. He worked by rote, for he could hardly see, and he cursed the wind, only to realize that it wasn’t the wind that was interfering with his vision, it was his tears.

  He stopped what he was doing, holding both mares by their bridles now, staring grimly out into the gust-filled night. His stomach was clenched tight. Was Lionel dead?

  And he wanted to smash his fist into the face of the man now claiming to be his brother. If he had not appeared in their lives, there would be no need for this flight to Caedmon Crag right now, filled with an anguish and a pain he had thought long since laid to rest.

  Garrick led the two mares across the stony courtyard to the run-down stables. He wiped tears from his face and led both mares into two roomy box stalls. He’d brought corn mash with him, and he filled both mangers with it. Damn it. The man who had so suddenly appeared in their lives was not Lionel, his long-lost brother. For if he were, Garrick would know it. Once, they had been so close. Even if he had changed, becoming grasping, manipulative, and unlikable, Garrick would know it. This man was a fraud. He had to be. And his brother was dead. There was no other possibility.

  He was a pretender, and Garrick had t
o unmask him. If it was the last thing he did.

  Garrick left the stables, head down, fighting the wind. His gut was tight. His heart beat too hard for comfort. The answer to Lionel’s disappearance was here, at Caedmon Crag. He was certain of it.

  Garrick pushed open the front door, entered the sanctuary of the hall, and pulled the door closed again. This time he bolted it. As he headed for the stairs, he glanced around one more time. No ghost of his long-lost brother materialized from the shadows. But he had the unnerving feeling that he was being watched. It was, of course, his imagination.

  The door to her room was ajar, light spilling from the crack. He pushed it open and his smile died. Hannah slept alone in the bed, Treve slept on the floor at the bed’s foot. Olivia was not present.

  “Garrick.”

  He whirled—and felt as if someone had struck him, hard, knocking all the air from his lungs. Olivia stood behind him, in the hall, resplendently naked. Her long platinum hair was loose, streaming over her full breasts and large, erect nipples, caressing her curved hips, where the curly tendrils parted, exposing her sex and her soft, pale thighs. He had no thoughts now, save one.

  He moved. He left the bedroom, shutting the door, taking her in his arms. He kissed her like a starving man, without finesse or grace—it had been far too long for that. His palms slid over her hair, then underneath the mass of it, on her smooth, supple back. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her up against his stiff loins.

  She cried out and kissed him back. Running her tongue over his lips, she slid her hands down the front of his shirt, beneath his coat, and then lower. Garrick froze as her fingers slipped over the length of his manhood. He closed his eyes, letting her touch him.

  Then he pushed her against the wall. Garrick wasn’t certain whether she was unbuttoning his breeches or if he was—or if they were both fumbling there together. She kissed and bit his neck. She whispered his name, her cries soft and encouraging.

  His manhood sprang hot and full against her hip. Garrick met her heated eyes for one moment before bending to taste her nipples. Then her hand was on him, squeezing, moving, rubbing. He pinned her to the wall, gasping. One of his thighs had separated hers, lifting her left leg high and hard.